


Moonlit Crystalline

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, Hook-Up, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, Miscommunication, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Short One Shot, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dean Winchester definitely isn't Castiel's type. At least, not for anything more than a one night stand. Personality-wise, he's a world's difference from what Castiel is into. Looks-wise? That's a different story. So, when Castiel is ditched at a bar by his friend, Dean swoops in to save the day. Only it's not Castiel's day he's saving. . ."You know I'm twice your age," Castiel grated out, squeezing Dean's leg to accentuate the point."Doesn't that make you twice as good?" Dean said with a shit-eating grin.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 413
Collections: anonymous





	Moonlit Crystalline

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tired of just focusing on my long-ass WIP. So, just to get those creative juices flowing, here's some filthy, smutty, PWP.  
> It's not beta'd—so, all mistakes are my own—wrote it yesterday, on and off again, looked over it today, and then posted it.  
> Read the tags, BTW. There's a big age difference here. No student/teacher, though. But Castiel _is _a professor. Some interesting fetishes, too. Castiel calls Dean "baby boy", "pretty boy", and "pretty baby" a lot.__  
>  So, yeah. Enjoy!

It'd been a while since Castiel'd been to a bar like this. Delta Alpha Theta rushes were sipping on martinis, little black dresses embracing their curves, flipping masterfully styled hair over their spray-tanned shoulders. Some Kappa Delta Phi upperclassmen were also prowling around, playing pool with their glistening Rolex', baring their blindingly white teeth between smirks, downing pitchers of beer without hesitation, truly believing their twenties were going to last forever—Castiel, even though it didn't seem likely at first glance, was more inclined to watch them.

He was sitting at the bar, sideburns salt-and-pepper-ing, a razor-sharp glower scaring off the mulleted-bartender, and an off-putting trench coat hanging off his shoulders. His eyes slid past the displayed cleavage of barely legal sophomores, beyond the perk asses and shades of lipstick, lingering on the flexing muscles of over posturing fraternity-douches.

He sipped his bourbon, loosening his tie and undoing his dress shirts top button, just watching. 

"Novak, you made it!" Meg Master's voice startled him, the blonde plopped down next to him, "I'm fuckin' impressed."

"That I'm at a bar or that I'm out at all?" Castiel straightened himself up, going with the easy self-deprecating joke.

"The former," she nudged him, beaming, "I can't believe you showed. Especially to Harvelle's."

Castiel finished off his drink, taking another look around the dive, soaking in the heady excitement that came with his staring and then the buzzing sensation he felt ping-pong across his skin when someone returning the eye contact. Really, Harvelle's wasn't the worst place he'd patronized. Gabriel had made sure of that. But Meg wasn't talking about the quality of the dive, she was likely referencing the demographics of the other habitues, as this bar had the youngest crowd Castiel had ever experienced. He felt like he was in a lecture, staring down at all his pupils, ready to give an introductory lesson on binge-drinking-101. And Meg, even though she was effectively a teenager by the time the rest of these kids were born, fit in far more seamlessly than Castiel could ever hope to. Although around this many twenty-somethings, forty-five and thirty-five were eons apart—Castiel was a fucking dinosaur in comparison.

"I'm surprised faculty are allowed at a student-bar like this."

"It's not technically on campus," Meg wiggled her brows, "It's on the outskirts, Clarence. So, we can come here all we want."

Casting an eye to the school memorabilia lining the walls, with knights and lady knights barbacks, and the oddly painted red and black brickwork, Castiel doubted that was true. Unless they were just pandering to the students, Harvelle's had to have some kind of partnered restaurant-style agreement with KCU, similarly to Gabriel's bakery. Meaning they were breaking _some_ kind of ethical code being here. Especially on a night like tonight—pledges shotgunning shots, seniors cruising for hookups, and helpless freshers mooning around with flushed cheeks and very impressionable faces.

"Why would we _want_ to come here?" Castiel eventually settled on. 

"Profs get a discount," Meg grinned, looking down at the fifth drink he'd downed tonight, "Haven't you noticed?"

"It's all going on my tab," Castiel shrugged.

"Well, it's a good thing Ash knows you're a prof then, huh, Novak?" Meg rolled her eyes.

Castiel glanced at the bartender, considering him, "He looks vaguely familiar. I wonder if he's in a class of mine?"

"He _is_. Religious Literacy: Traditions and Scriptures? He sleeps through class but aces all the coursework and exams?" 

Humming, Castiel said, "I'm very lucky to have you as a T.A, Ms. Masters."

Meg looked exasperated. "Well, this T.A needs to let off some steam. Fuck around with a delectable coed. Don't wait up, alright?"

Castiel had gotten used to Meg's vulgarity fairly quickly. He didn't even flinch anymore. "Good luck," he wished her.

She eyed him, obviously arguing with herself before biting out, "Maybe you should do the same?"

Castiel didn't bother to hide his disdain. "If you wanted to help me get laid, you should've picked a more appropriate bar."

"So what, you're just gonna sit here staring like a creeper?" Meg scoffed, "That seems _worse_ than sleeping with a student."

"How you ever got involved in theology is lost on me. . . " Castiel frowned.

"Have you _read_ the Song of Songs? It's practically porn," she tapped her acrylic nails against the bartop, "Erotica, at least."

"King Solomon comparing his wife's breasts to fruit is hardly tantamount to what you're suggesting."

"You're such a prude, Novak," she huffed out a breath, turning away, "Fine, sit here and be miserable."

And Castiel planned on doing just that. He hunkered down further, watching Meg flounce off down the bartop, sipping the new bourbon that'd been placed sanctimoniously in front of him. He followed her movements, her own tight black dress highlighting her svelte figure, pitching herself alongside a red-haired freshman sipping on a funny-looking mixed drink. Castiel exhaled, tearing his eyes away from his now flirting T.A and her future conquest, focusing back on his drink. It swirled in the bottom of his glass, dark amber, reflecting his keen-edged glare back at him. Meg had invited him out tonight to celebrate a successful first month of classes, hip-checking him, baiting him out to let loose with her shiny nearly-black eyes, a cunning smirk on her usually twisted mouth. Now she was abandoning him for a—he squinted his eyes at the ginger, wrinkling his nose up in objection—an obviously underaged, chortling, anorak.

Who in their right mind wore a Harry Potter t-shirt to a bar?

"Man, if looks could kill," Someone said from beside him, amused.

Castiel twisted around instantly, refusal on the tip of his tongue, "Excuse you—" His words died upon impact, everything sort of blurring, _green_ and _freckles_ becoming the only two words he could remember. Whoa. Blinking, he reared back at the proximity to this new person, licking his lips on instinct. He cleared his throat, continuing more casually, "Excuse you, is there a problem here?"

"Only if pretentious asshats like you think women owe you their time," the man said, smirking with his tongue pressed against the back of his front teeth.

Okay, Castiel amended: _green, freckles_ , and _dimples_.

He felt like his brain was rebooting every time he got a good look at the man.

"I'm sorry?" Castiel decidedly wasn't following.

The man flicked his head towards Meg, raising his brows, "She wasn't interested, pal. You can stop glaring daggers at my best friend now."

Castiel looked the man over again. He bit his bottom lip, taking in every detail, feeling something hot and molten settle right below his stomach. Clearly "man" had been an overstatement. Someone so delicate and pretty couldn't be described as anything other than a boy. Lush lips were pulled in an impassioned simper, high cheeks casting shadows along his well-defined jaw, a lovely nose to balance the rest of the gorgeous features—Castiel rested his chin in his palm, drinking in the sight of the boy with an overt desiring stare, letting himself fall deeply into the fiery callow eyes. He only comprehended the spoken words long after it was the expectable time to respond, seeing the now fidgeting grimace on the boy's face, the awkward shimmying he was doing as he waited for Castiel's rebuttal. 

"Meg is just a friend. She invited me out tonight and then ditched me," Castiel responded placidly. "For your best friend, I assume?"

A blush encompassed his cheeks and nose, touching the tips of his ears. "Oh, shit. M'sorry, dude."

"No, _I'm_ _sorry_ for the confusion," Castiel let himself lean closer, extending a hand, "My name is Castiel."

"Dean," Dean said, taking Castiel's hand and then rubbing the back of his neck, "Sorry. Y'know how it is, right? I'm kinda overprotective."

"Overprotective?" Castiel echoed, taking in Dean's youthful face, "How old are you if you don't mind me asking?"

Dean sort of puffed up his chest, "I'm twenty."

So he was underage like Castiel suspected—well, at least he was straightforward.

Castiel tilted his head. "And they let you into the bar?"

Dean deflated. "I know the owner."

Nodding, filing that information away for later, Castiel circled his finger around the rim of his glass, "I'm forty-four. Almost forty-five."

"Really?" Dean blurted, "You could pass for thirty, dude."

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said languidly.

"Yeah, no problem," Dean dropped his eyes to Castiel's lips, "I'm, um, I'm really sorry about assuming before."

"You know what they say about assuming," Castiel smiled, reciting a learned phrase from Gabriel, "It makes an ass out of you and me."

Dean laughed, "Sounds vaguely true."

Castiel inhaled slowly, their breath mingling from the closeness of their mouths, "Dean, are you a student at KCU?"

"Nah, I'm a townie," Dean averted his eyes, blushing again but this time from embarrassment, "Not really the college-type, y'know?"

"Someone as fiercely loyal and brave as you should have the kind of grit needed to be accepted into higher education," Castiel said honestly.

"Yeah, well, the deck wasn't exactly stacked fair," Dean shrugged, "But I'm not here to bitch about how daddy didn't raise me right. . ."

"Why are you here?" Castiel needled.

"Same as you, I guess," Dean nodded again to where Meg was _—_ unsurprisingly, after glancing over his shoulder, both her and the redhead were missing. Meg worked fast, evidently. Castiel could admire that. Especially now, with the sunshine beaming onto him: a white pearly smile, dimples, green eyes and all. If only Castiel _could_ pick up the pace. But he decided to just keep up the conversation. He didn't want to scare Dean off by propositioning him too soon.

"Because your friend finds you ditchable?" Castiel guessed, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

Dean dropped his head back, laughing, his elegant neck on display, "Nah, wingman duty, dude."

Castiel shook his head, "Meg better not have dragged me out tonight to be her wretched wingman."

"It's not that bad," Dean said, staring up at Castiel through his lashes, "I mean, the company's pretty great."

Oh, was this flirting? Maybe the drinks he'd downed were finally catching up to him. Castiel wasn't a lightweight by any means. But he could get buzzed fairly quickly. It was strange. He could drink half a keg, just be a little tipsy, and then wake up the next morning without a hangover. The only time he could recall being drunk was back when he'd been a fresher himself, trying to prove something to the upperclassmen, downing tequila shots like a pro. The next morning he'd woken up between two pierced and tattooed bodies, with no memory of what'd transcribed, awkwardly leaving a sorority house in a pair of borrowed panties and the worst morning breath one could imagine. Gabriel always liked to tease that Castiel had gotten so wasted he'd _turned straight_. Castiel always rolled his eyes—however many years later, the tale had not lost its uncanny vexation. Especially since it was a funny story he liked to bring up at weddings and other family get-togethers. Castiel had cousins that thought he was a borderline alcoholic because of the number of times Gabriel had slapped his knee, gushing about being a proud big brother, and then spilling every incriminating detail to the awaiting ears.

"I agree," was how Castiel decided to respond. "Which is very unexpected considering. . ."

"Considering?" Dean drifted closer, baggy t-shirt falling further down his chest. "Considering what?"

"Considering the median age of the other patrons," Castiel said, letting himself enjoy the way Dean ran his finger along his own collar bone. It was like he was stuck in another world. Pointer finger running along the jutted surface, the rest holding down the shirt, caressing absentmindedly, staring undeviatingly into Castiel's eyes. "I'm not exactly sure what I'd have in common with an assembly of gen-Zs. But then again, there's always the exception."

"And that exception is me," Dean surmised, green eyes brightening.

"That's very presumptuous, Dean—I actually was referring to the very lovely bartender that keeps serving me drinks."

Dean snorted. "If you'd truly talked to Ash, you'd know he's the least _lovely_ guy you'd ever met."

"Apparently he's taking one of my classes," Castiel said, "Is he a friend of yours?"

"Future brother-in-law," Dean said flippantly, immediately asking, "You're a professor?"

"You may call me Dr. Novak if you'd prefer," Castiel smirked, observing the way Dean's pupils dilated. "Ash is dating your sibling?"

"Well, y'know how I said I know the owner of this joint?" Dean bit his lip, inching closer still, "Her name's Ellen. She practically helped raise me and my brother. With the help of my adoptive father, Bobby. Anyways, she's got a daughter named Jo. And Jo has been pining after Ash since they were in diapers. So, even though they're not dating or anything, it's kinda a bet on when they'll eventually get together. I've got a couple of hundred bucks staked on them getting together _this_ year—the only rule is we're not allowed to give 'em any hints."

"Betting on a family member's love-life?" Castiel didn't find that appealing. "You'd get along well with my older brother."

"Yeah, is he awesome?"

"Mildly infuriating, actually." 

Dean laughed, "I think you'd get along with my _younger_ brother."

Castiel knew that if anyone looked over at them, they'd instantly notice how close their mouths were. It was like they were practically pressed together. Dean was leaned so far forwards, his barstool was balancing on two legs instead of four. Castiel, more than anything, wanted to close the distance. He wanted to taste those sinful lips, bury his hand in that sandy-blond hair, their chests flush as they'd grind together—Castiel felt his eyelids lull as he imagined it, skin prickling and cock thickening, and without second-guessing himself, he reached his hand out to cover Dean's knee. 

"You know I'm twice your age. . ." Castiel's voice grated out, squeezing Dean's leg to accentuate the point.

"Doesn't that make you twice as good?" Dean said with a shit-eating grin on his face. "At least, that's what a Cosmo article told me."

Castiel wasn't sure if that was a joke. "You read Cosmo?" 

"There was an exclusive Doctor Sexy, M.D. cast interview," Dean answered, "I bought the magazine, cut out the collum, and framed it."

"I can't tell if you're being sardonic," Castiel said, running his hand further up Dean's leg until he was groping his thigh. 

Dean ducked his head down, glancing at Castiel's hand, voice raspy, "Oh, I'm serious—It's right above my bed."

"It is?" Castiel grazed his fingers along the inner seam of Dean's jeans, "I think you're just teasing me."

"Well, there's only one way I can prove it," Dean said shakily, squaring his jaw, "Wanna go back to my place?"

Castiel, feeling like the cat that'd got the cream, leaned forward until his lips were grazing Dean's right ear, "How far?"

Dean swallowed, throat clicking, "About thirty minutes from here."

"I'm closer," Castiel murmured. "Just a few blocks."

"Yours, then," Dean said hotly. "But I'm still driving."

Castiel thought of reiterating _just a few blocks_ , but instead, he stood up and held out his palm, "Let's go then."

Weaving through the crowded room, bumping into intoxicated coeds, Castiel kept a firm grasp on Dean's sweaty hand. And when they finally slipped outside, the air felt ten times lighter, less stuffy and heavy, luminescent shadows dancing across Dean's gorgeous face. His green eyes were crystalline in the moonlight—so clear and brilliant, Castiel _had_ to bring their lips together. Just a peck. But it was enough to stir him, deep within, like wriggling worms in his belly and seething magma beneath his ribs. Castiel caressed Dean's neck, brushing his thumb along his jaw, before pulling back and taking in the wide-eyed, flushed, lascivious look on Dean's face.

"Why'd you stop?" Dean asked, panting.

"If I kept going, I might take you right here," Castiel rumbled back.

"Is that a bad thing?" Dean joked, trying to press their chests back together.

Castiel hadn't noticed before but Dean was slightly taller than him. 

"Where's your vehicle?"

Dean tilted his head towards a long, black, reflective car. "Impressed?"

"Astonished," Castiel squinted, taking in the shiny exterior, "I should've guessed you were a car-guy."

"I'm not a T-bird or anything," Dean grinned, tugging his bottom lip, "Although, Kenickie could perswaded me. . ."

"As long as you don't judge me for not knowing how to drive stick," Castiel answered.

"Hey, my baby is an automatic," Dean said, bringing them closer to run his hand along the car's roof. "She's the perfect ride."

"I was led to believe manual was better," Castiel said, uncertain. At least, that's what Balthazar had always attested.

"Sure, if you're a control freak," Dean snorted, "But I trust my baby to gear me up or down—and she never stalls."

Castiel pressed his lips together in a steady line, shuffling on his feet. As much as the revelation that Dean owned a sexy classic car entertained him, it was not advantageous to his end goal. They needed to be blocks away from here, in a bed and naked, at least ten minutes ago. "So, are we going to just talk about _your baby_ or are we getting in any time soon? I thought I'd have you in my mouth by now."

Dean swayed forward, mouth open, catching himself on the hood of his car. "If I had condoms, I'd suggest we get in the back seat."

"But you don't," Castiel said. "So, let's stop dawdling and get this show on the road."

Dean just nodded, pulling out a set of keys from his front pocket. "Okay."

Climbing into the car, Castiel reached for a seatbelt and grimaced when he came back with nothing. Dean turned the ignition and instantly loud heavy metal music poured from the speakers, vibrating the entire car, giving him the faraway pre-bloom of a frightful headache. Castiel was torn between his earlier horniness and the crushing typhoon of frustration that every second post-kiss had brought him—the only thing salvaging this night was the breathtaking look on Dean's handsome face. 

"I suppose you never installed safety measures into your classic car," Castiel said whilst Dean revved the engine.

"There are lap belts in the back," Dean said with a crooked smile, winking, "If you wanna crawl back there."

Dean definitely wasn't his type. At least, not for anything more substantial than a one-night stand. Personality-wise, he was a world's difference from what Castiel was into. Looks-wise? That was a different story. Castiel, after many attempts at psychoanalyzing his love life, realized he liked younger men, with adorable faces and cutesy personalities. Dean's personality was as far from "cutesy" as possible. With the strong-headed ideas, a displeasing black car that probably made up most of Dean's ridiculously large carbon footprint, and the way he _winked_ as he suggested Castiel crawl into the back seat. Yeah, Castiel was only going through with this because of how fucking pretty Dean was. So fucking pretty.

And no, he didn't have unresolved issues—despite what Gabriel might think and proclaim, Castiel didn't fill the hole in his heart that Samandriel left with inexperienced boyfriends. Just because he failed his younger brother didn't mean he was trying to satisfy that itch to _protect_ and _fix_ by dating jailbait. Besides, Dean was twenty. Castiel was hardly taking advantage of some child or a protegé. Dean wasn't even _in_ college. Pushing the intrusive thoughts from his mind, they weren't nearly sexy enough for what he was contemplating doing to Dean, Castiel focused back in on the moment.

"I believe I'm fine up here," Castiel said, reaching his fingers out to rub Dean's leg, "How about you start driving?"

Dean sucked in a quick breath. "Yeah," and he pulled out of the parking lot.

So pretty—that faraway look in his eye, mixed with the glossy veneer of lust, and a flushed nape.

Castiel moved his hand to the front of Dean's crotch, fingering the zipper, watching him fidget wordlessly.

"Do I turn here?" Dean huffed out, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"Yes," Castiel nodded, undoing his pants slowly, "Hurry or else I'll pull you out right here. . ."

"Fuck," Dean muttered, turning up the side road, "You're gonna kill me."

They stumbled into the house, the door closed behind them, falling back on it—Castiel shoved Dean's arms over his head, mouthing harshly at his neck, sucking hickeys into the delicious skin. Dean moaned, head falling back and hitting the door, legs spreading, and lashes fluttering. Castiel licked, sucked, and nibbled brutally on Dean's pretty neck, then his jaw, moving to enfold Dean's lips, molding them together with his own. They made out for what felt like forever, tongues tangling, eyes squeezed shut so tightly they hurt. 

"Bed?" Dean pulled back to gasp.

Castiel nosed along Dean's cheek, murmuring in his ear, "Want to fuck you so bad."

Dean keened, moving from Castiel's hold, "Yeah, lets'go, c'mon, Cas. . ."

"You don't even know where my bedroom is," Castiel mocked.

"I'll find it," Dean said with lulling eyes.

"Go on, then," Castiel stepped back, crossing his arms. "Find it, boy."

Dean stepped forward on unsteady legs, pupils were blown out. He hesitated for only a moment. Looking at Castiel questioningly. Before realizing that he was serious with his request. So, grabbing Castiel's hand, Dean started pulling him through the apartment. They blundered into the bathroom and the study before finally making it to the bedroom. Dean grinned in satisfaction as he pushed Castiel onto the bed, pouncing on top of him and kissing him smugly.

"Found it," he said, leaning down to suck on Castiel's tongue.

"Yes, you did," Castiel squeezed Dean's hips, moving his fingers to trail up and down his spine. "Want a reward?"

"Yeah," Dean said, suddenly out of breath.

"Alright," Castiel leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, "Take off your shirt."

Dean shucks the shirt over his head without any hassle.

"Pants, too."

Dean sprang up, unbuttoning his jeans, sliding them off his legs ungracefully.

"Now what?" Dean asked eagerly.

But Castiel was stumped on a small little satiny detail. "What are those, Dean?"

Dean seemed perplexed, looking down to where Castiel was staring, turning as red as a tomato. "Oh, I, uh, forgot. . ."

Where underwear should be, Dean was wearing the snuggest pair of pink panties. They hugged him prettily. Accentuating his golden tan. Cupping his bulge. They made Castiel's breathing hiccup somewhere in his chest. It was such a shocking thing to find out. Especially considering the overcompensating, obnoxious, black, muscle-car. Castiel was entirely delighted. 

"Pull out your cock, tuck the elastic under your balls," Castiel said.

Dean followed the instructions, asking self-consciously, "Like this?"

"Perfect," Castiel praised, "Now, protection—bedside drawer."

Dean reached over, pulling out a condom and opening it. He rolled it on himself, looking down at Castiel in apprehension.

Satisfied, Castiel said, "Come up here."

Hesitating only a moment, Dean crawled up and sat on Castiel's lap again. Castiel got his hands back on Dean's hips, tugging him further and further up until—Dean gasped loudly, stabilizing himself, hovering stiffly over Castiel's chest. Getting a hand around Dean's plumping erection, Castiel guided the tip to his mouth, rolling his tongue over the slit and brutalizing the sensitive underside. Dean cried out, bucking forward and inadvertently pushing more of himself into Castiel's mouth. Now, with Dean practically riding his face, Castiel relaxed his throat and urged Dean forward by getting his hands on Dean's cheeks and _pulling_.

Dean looked down at him, so fucking gone it wasn't funny. He rolled his hips down, shoving more of his dick into Castiel's mouth.

"Cas," he whined, "So fuckin' good, Cas."

Castiel hummed around the cock, watching the way Dean's lashes fluttered, his body shuddering with pleasure.

Dean, finally getting with the program, started fucking Castiel's face.

His thighs squeezed around Castiel's head, bouncing up and down, head thrown back and moans escaping his mouth.

Castiel watched, fascinated, as Dean lost himself. And without an inch of regret, Castiel hollowed his cheeks and sucked.

Dean cried out loudly, shuttering to a stop, just holding himself in Castiel's hot mouth.

His neck started getting a cramp, so he tapped Dean's thigh and waited for the man to pull out. Dean looked so expended and disoriented. Castiel grappled around the bed before he found a pillow, situating it behind his head, he rolled his head around until he was comfortable. His neck in a position where it wouldn't be sore in the morning. Then, he stared back up at Dean and said with a gravelly voice, "You may continue, Dean."

Enthusiastic, Dean guided himself between Castiel's parted lips. "Holy shit," he lamented, going right back to that merciless pace.

Castiel let his throat slacken completely, loosening himself up to be used entirely by Dean, eyes slipping closed as he focused on the feeling of a cock pushing in and out of his mouth, pressing down his throat achingly before repeating the movement. It was actually so arousing, Castiel was standing at full mast. Dean, succumbed to the feeling, thrust particularly deep and caused Castiel to choke a little bit. Eyes springing open, they stared at each other. Dean seemed anxious. But Castiel wasn't hurt at all. Just a little surprised. He inclined his head forward, taking Dean's dick into his mouth again, all the way to the back of his throat, staring at Dean determinedly.

Dean's mouth fell open, "Oh, fuck, Cas!"

 _Keep going_ , Castiel tried to communicate with his eyes.

Dean twisted his head back and forth, pulling out suddenly, "Can't. Don't wanna come, Cas. . ."

Castiel barely contained his smirk. Sitting up, Dean slid down to his lap, pulling off the condom and tying it off.

"Were you going to come in my mouth?"

"Wanna come with you inside me," Dean muttered, pressing his face into Castiel's neck. "Want you to be naked."

Castiel suddenly felt breathless. Shit. He was so hard. "Dean, take off my shirt."

Dean's fingers fumbled as they unbuttoned Castiel's dress shirt. "Knew it wasn't fair. Me being all exposed and you being all covered up."

"It _wasn't_ fair," Castiel ran a hand through Dean's hair, watching in amusement as Dean started working on his pants without prompting. "You wanted to see me, too, didn't you, baby boy?"

"Yeah," Dean started tugging down Castiel's pants, "Wanna see you so bad, Cas."

Castiel took off his undershirt as Dean worked on his getting his pants down his thighs. Then underwear. Finally, they were both completely naked. Castiel watched Dean as he let his eyes trail over every part of him. It was so hot. Castiel ran his hands up Dean's ribs, tugging on two lovely pink nipples, before encircling his neck and squeezing slightly. Dean thrummed at each sensitive touch, dick spit-slick, wavering imperceptibly, smacked up against his belly button. Castiel reached a hand down, gripping the base, stroking up once, all the way to the pulsating head, just to watch that unkempt look on Dean's face deepen.

"Grab the lube, would you?" Castiel asked casually. "And another condom."

"Yeah," Dean nodded frantically, leaning over to rummage around in the nightstand again, "Got it!"

Castiel took the bottle, setting the condom down beside him, lubing up his pointer finger, "Cover your cock back up with your panties and turn over for me, okay?"

Dean did exactly as he was told, ass up in the air as he turned over, knees spread apart.

Letting his clean hand wander, Castiel tugged down the satin, exposing Dean's cute hole.

Without warning, Castiel leaned forward and placed a kiss right on the ring of muscle.

Dean jerked forward. "Cas," he exhaled languidly, "Cas?"

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel asked, encircling his slick finger, pressing in shallowly.

"Don't stop," Dean whispered out, hole fluttering, "Please. . ."

"Of course," Castiel said, working up to his knuckle, "Relax for me, baby boy."

Loosening, Dean spread his legs further, the band of his panties digging into his freckled legs.

Castiel hooked his finger down, finding the small cluster of nerves, observing the way Dean abruptly spasmed.

It was like he'd been struck by lightning.

"More," Dean begged, "I can take more, Cas."

Castiel worked a second finger in beside the first, scissoring them, shoving in and caressing Dean's prostate.

"So tight," Castiel commented, "How long has it been?"

"Months," Dean half-wept, "So damn good, Cas. . . Been months. Opened myself up."

"He didn't take care of you?" Castiel asked, an unexpected possessive-twinge rushing through him, "My poor baby boy."

"He didn't take care of me," Dean affirmed, voice trembling and watery from crying. "Not like you, Cas."

Castiel jostled a third finger in, just to be sure he wouldn't hurt Dean, quickening his speed.

"Want to face me, baby? Or want me to just push in?" Castiel asked, pulling his fingers out and working his cock back up to attention.

"Just push in," Dean cried, back arched, face shoved in the mattress, ass displayed, "Just fuck me, please, Cas."

Castiel lined himself up, rolling the condom onto his cock, slathering lube on it, before pushing in slowly.

"Oh, Dean," Castiel hunched over, just the tip inside, quivering, "You feel so good, so tight, sucking me in. . ."

Dean's shoulders were shaking, hole clenching and releasing repetitively, "Cas, more, fuck me, Cas."

Forcing in more, Castiel exhaled shakily, bottoming out with his pelvis pressed against Dean's cheeks.

"You feel amazing, Dean," Castiel praised, embarrassingly strangled, "Like you were made for me. It's so lovely. _You're_ so lovely."

"Fuck me, Cas. _Hard_. Please. Oh, God, please," he slurred.

Castiel pulled out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, watching Dean's hole grip around him. "You're so greedy for it, aren't you?"

Dean nodded slackly, face still pressed in the mattress, tears falling freely.

And then, without warning, Castiel snapped his hips forward.

Dean sobbed out a moan. 

"Shit," Castiel cursed, everything high-strung and sensitive, sweat started to drip down his back, "Just like that, pretty boy."

Everything in the room felt hot. Too hot. Muggy, maybe. Dean was trembling, skin flushed and drenched with sweat, chill bumps in the shallow slopes of his curves—in the dimples above his ass, the swooping divot over his spine, the wrinkle at the back of his neck. It was so hot. Like he was in a sauna or a burning building. But it wasn't coming from the air around him. No. It was practically radiating from Dean's skin. So palpable you could see the heat waves bending the air, creating steam, and a tiny mirage of more moisture, as they escaped Dean's thermal flesh. Castiel, bizarrely, thought of that one line poem he'd read when he was getting his Ph.D., by Sappho. So simple but entirely relatable to him now.

_you burn me_

That's how he felt now. All lowercase. No need for the stress uppercase implied. No punctuation. That was too conclusive. This moment was everlasting. And he was enduring. So lost in the feeling, so simply devoured, so hot, nearly burning, with molten liquid simmering in his lower sternum, each thrust propelling him deeper into the hot, burning, wetness of Dean. It felt incredible. And hot. So hot. Too hot. But at the same time, that fire froze him. It was so hot, it'd become cold, all around him, hugging him closer to Dean's back, trying to absorb all the burning warmth he could before he became completely chilled. God—he needed to get even closer. Envelop himself fully with Dean, become as close as possible, let his cock stayed buried in his tight ass.

"You feel so good, Dean," Castiel uttered, the culmination of all those thoughts.

A peal of moonlight slipped through the curtains, touching Dean's sweaty back, accentuating his bows. Castiel exhaled. Running his hand along the cleft of Dean's ass, finding those bowed legs. Investigating their sweep and curvature. He hadn't fully appreciated them before. In britches, they weren't really perceivable. Especially the baggy blue jeans Dean had been donning. But now? They were a fucking godsend. Spread so wide, bowed perfectly, accommodating Castiel's every plow.

"So fucking good," Castiel added, thrusting faster.

Dean made some more weak noises, like a whelp, so destroyed. 

"Say my name, pretty baby," Castiel said, that possessiveness digging its hooks in deeper.

"Cas," Dean breathed out, muffled in the mattress. "Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas. . ."

"My full name," Castiel corrected, "Say Castiel."

"Castiel," Dean turned his head to the side, full volume, practically shrieking, "Castiel, c'mon, fuck me, Castiel, make me fucking scream!"

"Yes," Castiel hissed.

Pressing his face into the back of Dean's neck, leaning forward until they were flush, back to chest, flesh on flesh—Castiel still needed more, needed to be closer, more friction, more _something_. He quickened his pace, once again. The room permeating with sounds of slapping skin, little high-pitched whines, and Castiel low grunting, biting possessively on Dean's nape, sucking hungrily at the skin there, forming a deep red hickey. Pulling himself away, repositioning himself, he resumed his thrusting. Laughing in ecstasy as rolls of pleasure started surging though him, thrumming, dancing across his arms and shoulders, raising the hair, shocking him to his very core.

Dean keened, arching his back more, and pushing back to meet each thrust. "Down more," he said, broken.

He angled his thrusts down a little, grinning devilishly when Dean screeched. "Found something, pretty baby?" Castiel asked.

"Gnnrgh," Dean was vibrating now, his body quaking with each press against his prostate. "More, _Cas_."

"More?" Castiel teased, slowing down, angling perfectly, and rolling himself into Dean, "Ask nicely, Dean. . ."

"Please, more."

"Of course," because who was Castiel to deny him? Especially when he asked so prettily.

In those moments, where Castiel was ruthlessly nailing Dean's prostate _again_ and _again_ , things became sharper.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, toes curling up and hole tightening, "Gonna come, Cas."

"Yes, do it," Castiel commanded, accelerating his rhythm again, trying to catch up with Dean, "Come for me. Now."

Dean collapsed his entire body onto the mattress, letting out a raucous cry, pliant and boneless.

Castiel pushed into his snug heat a few more times, shuttering as Dean tensed around him, hole clenching like a vacuum seal.

"Come for _me_ , Cas," Dean whined, so thoroughly _fucked,_ Castiel became overwhelmed at just the sound of his voice.

And he did come, releasing right into the condom, pulling out with a gasp, falling back onto the headboard, and steadying himself.

Both of them were just panting, then.

Completely spent.

"Dean?" Castiel reached his hand down to squeeze a quivering calf, afraid he'd gone too far, was too rough, "Are you alright?"

Dean laughed breathlessly, "Dude, that was fuckin' awesome!"

Castiel felt himself smile. "It was?"

Dean picked his head up, looking at Castiel with a dopey smirk, "Yeah, best sex _ever_."

"Well," Castiel cleared his throat, taking off the slimy condom and throwing it into the trash, "Would you be amendable to cuddling?"

"Holy shit, you're perfect," Dean maneuvered himself around, snuggling his face right up against Castiel's neck, "So perfect."

Castiel let his hand cradle the back of Dean's neck, "Thank you for tonight, Dean."

"Thank _me_?" Dean looked affronted, pulling his head back to squint at him, "Dude, you did all the hard work. Like, you're a generous lover. Probably the least selfish dude I've ever had in the sack—no need to be thanking me. Hell, you ruined me for other guys, I'm pretty sure. So, thank _you_."

"You gave a lot, too," Castiel hummed, pressing a kiss into Dean's sweaty hair, "It was equally wonderful."

Dean snorted but otherwise didn't comment further, changing the subject, "So, we're obviously doing this again, right?"

Castiel stopped petting Dean's neck, hesitating, trying to figure out how to say _no_ , "I had a lot of fun, Dean. . ."

"But?" Dean sounded hurt, pulling away from Castiel entirely then, "Dude, I thought we were both satisfied here."

"We were. We _are_ ," Castiel propped himself up, explaining, "But I don't exactly feel comfortable with casual relationships. I mean, one-night stands are one thing. One thing I don't do often. But fuck-buddies? Friends with benefits? Whatever you want to call it. I don't like having sex with people more than once if we're not dating. And not to offend you, Dean, but you're not exactly my type. At least, not for dating. And I'm sure our ages aren't exactly beneficial to that outcome."

"Screw our ages," Dean looked pissed. "Dude, I'm not your type? What the fuck?"

"You're very beautiful, so lovely, and you're very charming," Castiel said steadily, "But we have little common interests."

"Opposites attract, asshole," Dean declared.

Castiel smiled crookedly, trying to get Dean to understand where he was coming from, "So, you _want_ to date me?"

"I haven't thought about it! And I shouldn't be expected to! I just got fucked so hard my brain feels like mush," Dean crossed his arms, huffing.

"Alright," Castiel tried to hide his smirk, "In the morning, then?"

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes, settling back into the bed, "Sure, but don't expect cuddles now. You ruined the mood."

"Of course," Castiel settled himself, too, pulling up the sheets, adding sincerely, "I'm sorry I ruined the mood, Dean."

Dean suddenly was right back in his space, abandoning his newfound resolve immediately, starfish-ed out on Castiel's chest, looking up at him earnestly, "Dude, listen, what we just did? How hard I just came? How much I fuckin' screamed? Once _couldn't_ be enough. Hell, you poisoned me, dude. I'm pretty sure if I went back out to Ellen's, I couldn't find another guy that could even come close. Especially not those college douches. You fuckin' _poisoned_ me for other dudes. One time definitely isn't enough, Cas."

Castiel felt something in him jolt at those words, curling his arm around Dean. "Round two in the morning?"

"Not to go all _Captain & Tennille_ on you," Dean blushed, talking softly, "But I could never get enough of a man like you."

"So," Castiel reflected, "Are you asking me out?"

Dean rolled his eyes again, stating, "Yeah. Guess I am. Would you like to go out on a date? And then more sex? Especially the sex part."

Castiel considered it. Very seriously, in fact. The reality that Dean wasn't his type. That they didn't have any common interests. Dean's gas-guzzling muscle car. The way he was entirely too much like Gabriel. That sleazy wink he'd done. Their age difference. All of those reasons Castiel usually wouldn't want to go on a date with someone like Dean. He looked down at Dean, how delicate and kissable he looked, and reminded himself of all the admirable and likable qualities he'd seen from Dean tonight—how much he cared for his friends, how dependable and protective he was, the cute way he'd blushed and flirted with Castiel, his _panties_.

A man that was all bravado and machismo, with an obnoxious black classic car, wore panties.

It really flipped a lot of Castiel's perceptions on their head.

Castiel ran a hand down Dean's back, felt his spine, bringing their faces closer to kiss him.

"I like sushi," Castiel commented as he pulled back, "And I'm free on Monday at 8 PM."

"I _hate_ sushi," Dean grinned, "But I'm free then, too."

"Perfect," Castiel said, compromising easily, "Maybe we can go to a burger joint for our next date?"

"Perfect," Dean echoed, staring at him with hooded eyes, "I can't wait, Dr. Novak. . ."


End file.
